To Those Who Are Forgotten
by Ruthie Bryer
Summary: Not everyone is remembered, nor loved.  Some are not, because they are too quiet.  Or because they are outshone.  Or because they hold no power.  What ever happens to those who are forgotten?  AmeCan, Spamano, FrUK, RoPru in that order.
1. To those who are forgotten

He didn't mind. Really, he didn't. He didn't mind being unnoticed, or being forgotten, or ignored. Why would he mind? Would he mind because no one knew when his birthday was? Or because no one ever tried to stop him from hurting himself? Or would he mind because no one ever comforted him when he was hurting? No, he didn't mind. That would've been rude. And selfish. Matthew Williams most definitely did not want to be selfish.

He sat on his front porch, watching the colors in the sky change with an almost melancholy and resigned stare. Blonde hair fluttered in the small breeze, mystic, lavender eyes taking in every detail of the world before him. His people hung flags high in the air, faces painted in the colors of his heart. Their voices rang out in French and English, mixed in every possible way, singing his song. They would be the only ones celebrating today. If he were human, he would hate them. They were so happy on this day, when he couldn't find the willpower to even try to be happy. However, he was a nation, and they were his people. He loved them for celebrating this day, he loved them so much that he walked into their crowd, unwillingly, and sang with them, 'so that they would be happy', he convinced himself. It wasn't because he felt like he needed to remind and be reminded of who he was. It was because they would be happy if he joined. So he walked amidst them, singing, as the sky changed from the deep blue of the ocean to the flaring orange of determination. No, he didn't mind being forgotten, today of all days. No matter how much people forgot him, he would forever know who he was. An arm was slung around him by a man he didn't know, but somehow knew everything about. He laughed and sang, perhaps, a little prouder. He didn't mind. Who cared that it was his birthday, and no one had called him? "O' Canada!"

His pale hand knocked on the door, one, two, three times. "Yo, Mattie! Thanks for coming!" His brother was decked out in his most patriotic clothing, as it was, after all, his birthday party. Canada smiled shyly, "No problem." For a second, he was tempted to ask that question that had been bugging him, although he knew the answer. 'Do you know what day it was three days ago?' The answer would be, of course, in the most oblivious way possible, 'July the first! Duh!' Then he would laugh, pat Canada on the back, and tell him to buy a calendar. Canada had one, though. It was hanging in his kitchen, as America would know, if he ever bothered to visit. Canada smiled at his brother as they walked into the party room, he didn't want to seem rude. Everyone was smiling and laughing, France was trying to molest Prussia, who was bothering Spain, who was doting on Romano, who was arguing with England, who was being watched by the creepy Russian in the corner, because he was holding a bottle of vodka. Canada greeted all of them, even though it went unnoticed in all the hustle and bustle. He took a seat near the refreshment stand, after putting his present to his brother on the table with all the other presents. (All of which were much bigger and probably much grander than the Canadian's.) (Except for England's.) (Canada had a vague idea that it was a dictionary.) He grabbed a cup of pop and started drinking it slowly, content at how everyone was interacting. The atmosphere in the room was just so nice, even if he wasn't included in it. His eyes felt misty all of the sudden, and he half-wondered why he felt so bad, it was America's birthday, he should be congratulating him and laughing, laughing as if he didn't mind. Which he didn't. So why were there tears rolling down his face?

Canada grinned, "Come on, Kuma-chan!" He ran to the front door, where he had heard a knock. He flung the door open, ready to greet whoever was there. Instead of the people he had invited, though, there was a mailman. He handed him some letters and wished him a good day, before walking down the porch steps and out into the cool, dark night. Canada sighed, "I guess they're just late." His little bear looked up at him, "Who?" Canada made a small whining noise in his throat, "I'm Canada! Your owner!" He sat down at the kitchen table and eyed the turkey he had made earlier that day. 'No,' he reminded himself, 'it would be rude to start without them.' Even though it was eleven p.m. and they had agreed to be there at eight. He grabbed a slice of pie and began munching on it, unable to help himself. "Do you think they'll get here, Kuma-chan?" If Kumajiro could have been a human, he would have called Canada an idiot, told him to eat something, and go to sleep. Sadly, though, Kumajiro was not a human, so he just uttered a small, slightly defeated "Who?" Canada snuggled with him, "Canada." They sat together at the table, Canada eating and chattering aimlessly to Kumajiro, who nibbled on some pancakes and occasionally said the only word he seemed capable of speaking, "Who?" Every time Kumajiro said that, Canada would almost smile, and respond the practiced line with ease, "Canada."

Canada laughed as England and France kissed under the mistletoe, England just seemed so much less angry these days. Russia held a struggling Prussian in his lap as Spain laughed at them, one arm around Romano. "Stupid Frog, you put that there!" Canada smiled a heart-warming smile, and stood up. He really wasn't in a good mood today, even though it seemed like he was. He put his presents to everyone on the kitchen table, "Hey, Alfred, I'm leaving." His brother looked over at him, surprised, "Hey, Mattie, when did you get here?" Canada sighed, "About two hours ago." The American blinked, "Oh. Sorry!" Canada smiled, "It's fine. Kuma-chan's hungry, so I'll be heading home." He walked towards the door, selfishly hoping that his brother would, for once, sense the mood, and try to stop him. He was sick of acting like he didn't mind everyone forgetting him, he wanted someone to know how he felt, and comfort him. It especially hurt to see America forget him. He had been in love with his brother for, hm, about forever? "Hey, Mattie, wait!" America grabbed his arm and pulled him to one of the many rooms in England's house, where the party was located. "Mattie, you haven't seemed alright lately. What's up?" Canada blinked back tears he didn't want to fall, "I-I...I can't say it. It would be selfish." America glared at him uncharacteristically, "Mattie, just tell me!" Canada took a deep breath and looked away from America, he didn't want his brother to see him break down. "I'm sick of being forgotten, Alfred. Really, I am. I tried not to mind. Did you even know it was my birthday on July 1st?" The first tears slipped from his eyes, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. America blinked. "And on your birthday! I tried my best to be happy for you, I did, but I couldn't help it, and I started crying! No one noticed, and no one tried to comfort me." He wiped his overflowing eyes with one red sleeve, his favorite hoodie. "For Thanksgiving! You guys had promised to come visit me, so we could all celebrate it together! I stayed up until eleven waiting for you guys, and no one came! I just gave up then. You know? It's pointless trying to get you guys to remember me, it never works. So yeah, after today, I'll go back to being ignored. I'm resigned to it. It's fine." Even as he spoke, his voice cracked, and he held his hands over his eyes, trying to make them stop watering. "Mattie..." His brother stepped forward and hugged him, sliding to the floor with him as Canada collapsed to his knees. "Mattie, I'm sorry. For everything." He hugged him a little tighter, feeling more and more guilt every time that Canada hiccupped. "I'm really sorry about everything. I forgot, it's my fault that you're like this. I'm sorry. I love you Mattie, I love you." His brother never stopped crying, he didn't think he was able to. "I love you, I love you, I love you." America held his brother in his arms until he fell asleep, then carried him to the bed in the guest room, and crawled onto it with him. He didn't want to leave Canada alone, not again. He was determined to never leave him alone again. He loved him, he didn't want to see him hurt like that.

Canada yawned, awake. His eyes hurt a little, probably from crying so much last night. Last night...had his brother really meant it? Was he really loved? A body stirred next to him, smiling and rubbing its eyes, "Morning, Mattie!" He leant down and kissed him lightly, smiling all the way. Canada blinked, a blush slowly covering his face. "Morning, Alfred." He kissed him and hugged him, feeling slightly giddy from joy. "Haha!" America hugged him back, and they lay there, feeling totally content.

A/N: Wah, sorry about the crappy ending! I know it takes effort, but please review! Thank you for reading! The next part should be coming out soon! The next part is going to be Spamano, so please look forward to it!


	2. To those who are outshone

Romano loved Feliciano, it was no lie. He loved his little brother, although he could be annoying at times, and he was going out with the stupid potato bastard. However, at times, he just felt so jealous of Feliciano! Not that he would tell anyone that. Feliciano got all the attention. Everyone loved the way he painted, they cooed over how cute and nice he was, they gasped in pleasure at how good his cooking was. What did Romano have? A mafia. A mafia, and a potty mouth, and a bad temper, and all those other unfavorable things that made people's mouths wrinkle in disgust. No one ever wanted to be near Romano, and that was fine. He didn't want to be near the bastards either. He only needed himself. He didn't need them to look at him and coo over him, in fact, he didn't want that. He did, though, want the attention of a certain male. Spain.

If there was anyone whose attention Romano wanted, though he loathed to admit it, it would be Spain. As he loved Feliciano, he hated Spain. He hated how damned happy he always was, his clueless grin, the wonderful tomatoes he grew, how nice he looked in the sunlight, his kisses, everything! He hated it so much, he just wanted to punch Spain in the face! Or so he thought. In reality, he truly did love him. He would never tell the bastard, though. That bastard was always doting on "cute little Feli." He didn't need to hang out with another damned Feliciano lover. He didn't need to be compared to Feliciano, because he was himself! Why did everyone always try to change him? They all wanted him to be like Feliciano, but he just wouldn't change! He wouldn't change for any of them, not even for Spain. He took their criticism with a straight, and slightly angry face, seeming completely uncaring. He said rude things to Feliciano, but the other simply smiled, knowing how much his brother loved him. He hit Spain repeatedly, in desperation, to make a difference between Feliciano and himself. He was Feliciano's foil. He was the bad to the good, the darkness that made the sun shine eternally.

Romano grimaced, brown hair stuck to his face from the rain. His eyes glared menacingly at the pouring sky, angry at everything. He had done it again. He had gone over to Spain's, just for a tomato, and you know what happened? Spain had started commenting on his manners. That wouldn't have mattered, if he hadn't then started talking about how nice Feli was, and how well he behaved, and his cooking, and anything else he could think of that Romano couldn't do. Romano ran a hand through his sopping wet hair and cursed the world. The rain didn't match his mood. A tornado would match his mood. Hell, if a tornado suddenly appeared, he would laugh. His temper was foul enough for him to hit something, and he would have, if he hadn't suddenly felt so lightheaded. The world blurred in and out of focus and he suddenly felt like throwing up because there was a sharp pain going through his chest and he could vaguely feel someone rummaging through his pockets looking for something, probably money, and he felt like laughing at them because of course he didn't carry money with him to Spain's house, he just went to get food. He fell to the cement floor, laughing at some joke that his attacker didn't hear, absentmindedly wondering what type of knife was used to stab him. 'Probably a flick knife,' he concluded, watching the world go black, 'his technique was terrible. A wannabe mafiaso.' He pulled himself back up to his feet, the pain had already numbed his senses, and he couldn't see, so why should he be afraid? He reached behind his belt, pulling out a pocket knife. "So," his words sounded slurred and he staggered, even nations were affected by blood loss, "What was the point of that, bastardo?"

Romano dragged himself back to Spain's house, his was too far away. He was slightly giddy, because he knew that Feli wouldn't have done something like that. He would have sat there and cried and he wouldn't have even tried to hurt his attacker. Yes, he was different from Feli. Feli was wonderful, and Romano was terrible, the dark side to the shining moon. He knocked on the door and just walked in, Spain always kept his house unlocked. His cut had already healed, after all, nations could not be killed by mortal wounds. "Lovi?" Spain looked up from his cooking in the kitchen. He gasped in surprise, and terror. "Lovi, what happened!" Before he could even say a rude word, Spain was by his side, asking countless questions. He almost laughed. It was just like Spain, this facade of caring. He knew that Spain loved Feli. Everyone loved Feli. "Lovi? Lovi! Are you even listening to me? Who did this?" Romano rolled his eyes and glared at him, "It's not mine, bastard." Spain looked over him, taking in how stained his clothes were. "Lovi...what did you do?" Romano frowned, "I made a difference between my stupid little brother and I." Spain gaped at him. Romano just commented on how dumb he looked, mouth open like a fish, and walked to his old room, to take a bath. He would deal with the idiot later, after a bit of thinking time.

His skin was slightly tan from sun, while Feliciano's was paler. His face was pulled into a permanent frown. That wasn't enough, though. He wanted everyone to know that he was different from Feli, that he wasn't him, and he would never be. His breath came out slightly ragged as he eyed the pocket knife in his hand. He had done a lot of 'business' using this knife, and it would once again save him, today. Today it wouldn't be saving him from someone else. Today, it would be saving him from himself. He needed to make a difference between them, he knew that Feli would never do this. The thought made him smile, maybe now they would stop trying to change him. He was tired of hiding in Feli's shadow, of trying to be as good as him, of failing. The knife glinted silver in the dim light of the bathroom. He could see himself reflected in the blade. He clutched it a little tighter, turning it so that he would no longer see himself. He put the knife to his wrist and pressed down a little, hissing as it cut his skin smoothly. Of course his knife would be sharp. He made a design down his arm, curving the line and branching it out, making a pattern of roses and vines. It looked like crap. He couldn't even make beautiful scars. The blood ran down his arm, dripping into a pool in the sink. If he weren't so caught up in his thoughts, he would have noticed how artistic it looked, the contrast of pearl-white and the deep crimson of his blood. "Lovi? Are you alright? You've been in there a really long time, I made dinner, it's going to get cold." Romano rolled his eyes. Just his luck. Spain had to go and interrupt him when he was getting rid of all his stress. "Go away." He started the same pattern on his other pattern, letting out a small squeak when he messed up and dug the knife too deep into his flesh. "Lovi, what happened?" The doorknob turned, Romano putting the knife away a second too late. Spain was gaping again. "What are you doing?" He stepped forward and took Romano's arm in one hand, inspecting the cuts. "What is this? Why?" Romano looked away, he could stop now. He wanted to tell Spain that he could stop pretending to care, he already knew about how much everyone loved Feli. Spain pulled bandages out of the cabinet, messily wrapping them around his arms. "Bastard, you can stop now." "No, Lovi, we have to get these cleaned up!" "I meant that you can stop pretending to care!" Emerald green eyes looked up at him in shock, "What?" Romano rolled his eyes, "I already know about how everyone loves Feli, and wishes I could be like him, and how everyone wants me to just disappear. You can stop now, I don't care." Those definitely weren't tears running down his face. It was water from his bath, it had just conveniently started falling from under his eyes. "...you really think that?" Romano nodded, it was a fact, after all. He had even heard people say it.

Spain felt like crying. His tomate really thought that he loved Feli? Feli was cute, and huggable, but nothing like Romano. Romano had a mind of his own, a temper, he was fun to be around. He was terrible, how could he have not seen how much it hurt his little tomate to hear him dote on Feli so much? He didn't mean to make Romano feel bad, he had meant it teasingly, but obviously, he was the only one that saw it that way. "You don't need to be like him!" Spain wrapped his arms around Romano's smaller form, "I love you this way!" Blood rushed up to Romano's face, "Get off, bastard! Stop lying!" "No, no, mi tomate, it's true! I do! I do!" Romano cussed but hugged Spain back, inhaling the smell of the country of passion. "Bastard, idiot..." Spain nodded, "I know." "Idiot! Idiot!" Romano burst into tears, holding the Spaniard tighter. Spain never let go of him, letting Romano curse at everything and cry into his shirt. "Te amo, Lovino." Romano sniffed and hit his back, "Don't make emberassing confessions, bastardo." He then hid his face in Spain's shirt and said in a voice so quiet Spain almost didn't hear it, "Ti amo."

A/N: I am not pleased with this one, guys. The next one's definitely going to be better. I'm going to be doing FrUK next, so please look forward to it!


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